


Performance Reports

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Chucklevoodoos, Double Penetration, Hero Worship, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Exhaustion, Size Difference, Size Kink, Threesome, authority kink, threeway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: whts up me again w the oc/canon ships





	Performance Reports

He’s a good kisser. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling himself closer and whining against your mouth, the picture of desperation. It hadn’t taken long, hadn’t taken much to get him to agree. Clorad asked and he nodded, licked his lips, but didn’t touch you. You’d taken your time admiring him, looking him over, letting Clorad pepper kisses over his neck and get him worked up. He’d kissed Hradil’s neck, his jaw, trailing up to his mouth and stroking his throat with the tips of his claws.

It isn’t as though you haven’t considered it; pailing isn’t high on your list of priorities, but it’s a fun way to pass the time, and Clorad is, beyond pretty, open about the fact that you’re invited. And Hradil is trustworthy; almost too much. It makes you kind of sad that he probably couldn’t kill you, but it’s sort of sweet.

Clorad’s claws on his throat made him moan. The noise was what decided it, that desperate keen against the Emperor’s lips, the way he held gently to his wrists, encouraging more when Clorad reached down to stroke his sheathe through his pants. You’d be a liar if you said the desperation wasn’t enough for you to want him, and now he’s in your lap, his pants shoved just low enough to give you access and his shirt under his arms.

Your hand slides down to his sheathe and almost pulls back when you feel his bulge out, but you let him grind down, because his little whines are nice. His lips are sensitive, enough so that you take a moment to nip at them, make him whimper. Your fingers slide back, pressing where you know his nook is, and you feel more than hear his gasp, the way his nook twitches. Eager, and you tell him so, swallowing the shuddering moan he lets out when he grinds down against your hand.

Clorad, from the other side of the room, makes a low noise. You open your eyes for a second and he’s walking over, pressing his chest to Hradil’s back, kissing his neck again. “You’re so cute, Hradil.” He purrs, and your intern shudders, clinging desperately to you. “You like kissing him, don’t you? Did you imagine this?” His hands slide under your vest, pressing Hradil against you more.

He has, probably. Hradil is always looking at you, trailing along behind you unless you tell him not to (or go to the restroom), his soft voice stuttering when he answers you. He’s cute, though. Short, a little stunted and the eyes are too big, but he’s cute, and he’s kissing like he’s worried you’ll push him away and have him killed. But the Emperor wouldn’t like that, and you don’t need to train another intern, and there’s something to be said to having a troll press up against you all desperate and wet and begging for anything you want to do.

Clorad crawls onto the bed, settling behind you, his arms sliding around your middle. You pull Hradil back with a grip on his hair (smooth and soft in your fist), and he moves with you, panting, his lips wet and bruised, bitten. You admire him as Clorad peels your clothes off, dragging the claw on your thumb down his throat to feel him shudder. Cute. You slide your hand up, pressing his lips open and sliding your thumb into his mouth, and he sucks it, moaning around it.

You have to push him back further, take your hand back, so you can lift yourself onto your knees and get your pants off, but as soon as you’re settled with Clorad murmuring behind you, his bulges slithering over your nook and twisting with your own, Hradil is back, arms around your neck and his bulge grinding against your thigh.

“Highblood.” He pants, kissing you softly. “Highblood, please.”

You cup the back of his head, kissing him again, deeper, bending him into what must be an uncomfortable angle to take over, and he just melts into it. There’s something terribly heady about it. “What do you want?” Your voice is too low, too much of a growl, but Hradil doesn’t seem to mind.

“You.” He avoids your eyes, sliding his hands down your chest to your grubscars. When you don’t react, he continues his feeling, dragging his claws over and between your grubscars, this wonderful look that you grab him by the neck to admire coming over him when you groan. “Anything.”

Clorad laughs, reaching out to pet at Hradil around you, his other hand moving to press his bulges into you. “Mmm, you’re so cute, Hradil. I can smell the desperation on you.” He presses at the back of your neck, pushing you down and sinking his bulges into you, slow and steady and burning. “Be nice to him, Kurloz.”

He holds you still, breathing calmly even as he presses his hips against your ass, never slowing to let you fully adjust but freezing with his entire length - lengths? - inside you. You’re embarrassed of the noises you’re making, gasping and moaning, but at this point you can’t say much. Hradil still looks at you like you hung the moons in your off time, and Clorad has never done anything you haven’t asked him to.

“Oh.” Hradil breathes, touching your face, eyes wide and amazed at every noise you make, and then you’re pressing against his neck, growling, biting until he bleeds, and he just keeps making that little noise, pushing against your thigh. “Oh, oh, oh, Highblood, please.”

Your hands slide under his ass, pulling him up closer, pressing him against you, letting Clorad take your weight so you can hold him against yourself. He’s light, purring and moaning as ypi lick the bite, then move to lick into his mouth. Hradil’s neck has only one bite on it, with just a bit of his too-blue blood still showing, so you kiss from his mouth to his collarbone, and bite, snarling as Clorad stuffs himself inside you, apparently trying to punish you for biting Hradil. Still, with the low, needy croon he makes at the bite, you think he probably doesn’t mind.

Hradil is taking care of himself, grinding against you and kissing your neck, so you just tuck him up against yourself, shamelessly accepting the nearly-silent praises he whispers while Clorad starts moving. It’s good, probably because he doesn’t have all of his bulges in your nook, the fourth twisting around your own, and because he pets at you and kisses your neck. He’s gentle, almost terribly, and it makes you relax, gasping when he presses you down until your shoulders are against the bed and his bulges slip into your seedflap.

Clorad leans over you, kissing Hradil until he can’t breathe, and you push yourself up, ignoring his whines, and tell him to strip, making your voice as gentle as you can, because Clorad seems touchy. He nods, even pulling a quick salute, and you can’t help but smile as he squirms out of his clothes, though, Hradil seems bolder for it Clorad purrs, petting at your hair approvingly once he’s nude and you lean in to kiss his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He has these little, barely worthwhile rumblespheres, but he writhes when you drag your tongue over them, so you do it some more, until you have to push his shoulders into the mattress to make him stay still.

Biting here and there, gently so Clorad doesn’t decide to be upset, you make your way down to his hips. It’s hard to hold yourself up with Clorad moving in you, but your goal is close enough to manage. He keens when you lap at the side of his bulge, hips bucking up and his noises going all strangled when you take it into your mouth.

Over your shoulder, you can hear Clorad murmuring at your intern, but you can’t really focus. He’s moving his hips in short, smooth circles, and Hradil’s wordless keens are more entertaining. You take him to the root easily, and the way he grunts, sudden and sharp, almost like he’s hurt, when you drag your tongue over and through the folds of his nook is delicious. Hradil croons when you dig your claws into his hips, pulling up pinpricks of blood each time he thrashes, and you only feel the need to look up when he’s muffled, getting a kind of terrible angle of Clorad licking into his mouth.

There’s lipstick smeared on Hradil’s neck when he finally pulls away, and some on his teeth, his paint is smeared, the sharp teeth and bone structures turning soft at the edges. He clings to your horns, panting harsh noises as you keep working on him, his voice breaking as your fingers slide into his nook. You do your best to match the pace Clorad has set, muffled moans almost drowning him out and you realize, oh, that’s you. It’s not something you can control well, but you try as hard as you can to be quiet to hear him, because he’s loud and talkative.

“Highblood, fuck me, please, yes, gods, fuck.” He slurs, twisting against your hand until you growl. “Fffffuh-It’s so good, Highblood, sir.”

Hradil goes still, then he sobs. He pulses around you, his bulge writhes, and he shoves your head away with another sobbing moan as he spills, indigo dripping down your chin from it. He grinds up against your hand, shaking and staring at you through the indigo flickers in his eyes even as you lay him on the bed again and pull your hand back. You press your fingers against his lips and he moans, licking them eagerly. This troll might kill you inadvertently.

Does that count?

“Good.” Clorad purrs against your neck, and now that nothing is muffling you, you can hear everything you’re doing, your neck flushing at the sounds. He jolts his hips forward harshly and you yelp, shuddering, the strength leaving your legs and letting him push you hard against the bed, crushing down against Hradil and making him whimper. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

It’s obvious that Clorad has a clown kink, which would offend you if you weren’t getting pailed to within an inch of your life (and fairly certain that your subordinate would be open to another go, should you ask). Plus, Hradil is peppering kisses against your jaw, his scarred fingers sliding to the sensitive space between your middle and bottom-most grubscars and making your eyes flicker back at him. You’re not even touching him besides being pressed against him, but his eyes are still flickering, your pan tickling at the way his voodoos pluck at the edge of your consciousness.

His teeth press gently against your neck, his legs shifting a little until your hips slot against his. “Please.” His voice is all soft, you almost don’t hear it over your own noises and the low growl Clorad is making. “Kiss me. Please.” Your bulge is pressed against his nook, not at an angle it can go in, but enough for the underside to press against him.

“Kiss him.” The Emperor murmurs, teeth on your shoulder. “Be nice to your intern, Kurloz.“

You’ll be annoyed later. For now, you’re fine following orders, because Hradil is a good kisser and it’s nice to feel the bubble of adoration-want-pleasure that fills the edges of your pan. Along with annoyance, you’ll be concerned about the hero worship thing going on, later. It’s pretty nice right now.

He lifts his hips, twists, and your bulge slides against his nook, the pace Clorad’s using bouncing you enough that it works, and you shudder, arms wrapping tight around his back and your mouth against his neck as you groan. Clorad holds your hips up and you just try to not crush Hradil too terribly, noting in the back of your pan that his hair smells like mango.

He’s making little, halfway pained noises, gasping for breath against your ear when Clorad bends your back to an uncomfortable angle and moves faster, his teeth digging into your shoulder, the claws at your hip pulling up bruises, and Hradil makes an entirely too satisfied noise when you spill, making a mess of the both of you more than he had already. All it takes is turning your head and you’re kissing him, hips bucking slightly against his as you come down.

Clorad purrs when he comes, curling over you and wrapping his arm around your middle, his face pressing against your hair as he slurs adoring little things that make your face almost hotter than the actual pailing. He kisses the back of your neck, pulling you up onto your knees and petting your front, his hips pumping more languidly. Hradil doesn’t move until you manage to regain control of your pan and neck enough to look at him, and then he scrambles up to kiss you, arms around your neck.

Hradil purrs, too, when you hold him up, and it’s pretty nice, having two objectively attractive trolls naked and purring against you. The annoyance and embarrassment that you’d been staving off both just evaporate, and you sit back, keeping Hradil in your lap when Clorad shuffles off the bed. He’s kissing the bite on your shoulder, soothing and adoring, almost pitying. You even feel kind of bad about his hips being scratched up from holding him still.

“Oh.” That noise again, soft, when you lay him back, rest your cheek on his abdomen and kiss his hip. “You don’t, uh, I’m fine, if you’re worried, or, whatever. I’m fine.”

He’s cute. “Motherfucker, I want to.” He huffs out a breath that sounds almost like a moan and relaxes, his jittery hands tangling in your hair. You drag your tongue over his hip, spreading a hand over his chest to hold him still, and try to pretend you’re not getting him worked up on purpose.

Clorad returns with a bottle of water for each of you (you swear he must have a fridge in his bathroom), and pulls Hradil into his lap when you sit up. “Hi, cutie-pie.” Hradil shivers, drinking when Clorad holds the bottle up for him, that same starstruck look in his eyes.

Why not?

“Pan his will to overload..” You murmur, sliding up behind him and stroking his throat when he sputters, grinning over his head at Clorad. “If you tease.”

In any other situation, you’re sure, Clorad would remind you that you’re also teasing, but he just smiles this coy little thing and cradles Hradil’s head in his hands, cooing. “I’m not teasing, gorgeous, I’m just making sure he rests before we continue.” His claws dig into the base of Hradil’s horn and he shudders, his swollen sheathe splitting as his bulge slides out. “Oh, look at you. Are you alright with us touching you?”

He nods quickly, struggling to close the bottle until you take over for him, and the bubble of adoration gets bigger behind your pan, his eyes still undercurrent glowing indigo. Clorad chuckles, reaching up to grab your horn and drag you down for a kiss, trailing from your lips to the tip of your ear, and taking his chance when you shiver at the bite to whisper to you. He must have been planning this for a while.

You’re never more glad for your paint than when you do something like this, for whatever reasons you do. Tyrians are just entirely too motherfucking coercive. Or whatever. You lay against the pillows at the head of the bed, your face pressed to one that smells like sea water and sunflower shampoo, and lift your hips, spreading your knees apart, and you can almost feel Hradil’s attention zero in on your nook.

“Wanna clean him up, cutie?” Clorad purrs, and you imagine him curled behind him, his lips hovering over the tender part of his neck that, when you kissed it, made him shudder with no other prompting. “I’m sure he’d love it.” He bites that spot and Hradil sobs. “Wanna try, lovely?”

You don’t even get a chance to huff before you feel his hands slide up your thighs, his breath on the wet skin of your nook, and then… Nothing. For several seconds. Long enough that you worry that maybe he doesn’t know how. You’re about to sit up and deal with the embarrassment when Clorad snickers.

“I’m not watching! Go on, Hradil, he can’t stay like that forever.” He laughs, and flops next to you, if the bed dipping and the cold hand on your back are anything to go off of. “Shy about this, of all things.”

Hradil shifts behind you, and you hear him murmur something a little too close to “gorgeous” for your taste, because it’s exactly what he says and that makes your pusher do something you don’t agree with, but at least he stuffs his tongue into your nook and you can forget his phrasing.

He’s not bad. Good, even. You get the feeling he likes using his mouth, because he’s good at this, his claws sinking into your thighs and soft little moans vibrating against your nook; the only way you know they’re there is because of feeling it, honestly. You can’t hear anything over yourself, biting the pillow and trying not to shove back against him, trying not to make the desperate noises you are.

Clorad turns your head, purring and pulling the pink pillowcase out of your mouth to suck on your tongue, his hands tangling in your hair. He pulls back, kissing your nose and cheeks as he works his way to biting the tip of your ear again, because he knows it makes you shudder and he’s an asshole. “He didn’t want me watching.” He whispers, licking the shell of your ear. “But I get the feeling he’s pretty goo-ood.” He giggles, nuzzling against your hair, and you groan, shoving a hand between your thighs to press a finger into your nook.

Hradil’s arms loop between your thighs, pressing his face against your nook like he’s starving. His tongue presses in beside your finger, but pulls back and moves, moving to your thigh, and you let him pull your hand away. Three of his fingers press in, spreading out when he moves to lick the edge of your sheathe, dipping the tip of his tongue into it until you twitch, whimpering.

He’s really good. The fact that you’re gonna have to work with him after this is terrible. How are you supposed to look at anything other than his mouth? Or his hands, because his fingers crook and you want to clown-marry him on the spot. You can feel the wet curl of his bulge against your knee, and you want him to pail you. You say so, shivering, your voice distorted as your pan reaches out, slipping into Clorad’s dazed, bubbly pan, then into Hradil’s, all his thoughts desperate and about you, and it’s too much. You’re sensitive and he’s so needy for both of you, you can feel him wanting to say yes to something, as long as you say it.

Your toes curl. Your horns scrape the wall, Hradil’s claws sink into your thighs more as he follows you, not letting up even as your claws tear at the sheets and you gasp, shudder, hissing a prayer to the gods as your nook twitches and he makes this low, moaning noise, licking and nipping against your thigh instead of just pulling back. You’re trembling, and he’s stroking his fingers down your thighs, his cheek eventually resting at the base of your spine.

His bulge writhes against your knee. You almost tell him to get on with it, but Clorad shifts, turning your head (you’re too busy enjoying the subsiding aftershocks to complain) and licks the base of your horn, because he’s cruel and he knows how to work you up and he’s evil. He tuts a little noise at Hradil, and you feel him move back. It’s a little disappointing, but you do have to admit you’re glad when Clorad flips you onto your back, because you can feel your face all slack-jawed and blissed out.

The heel of his hand grinds against your bulgesheathe, his fins fluttering, and your bulge slides out. “Come here, cutie. We’ll take care of you.” He purrs, stroking your bulge while you force yourself upright.

His eyes are glowing, still, as he crawls forward, into your lap. He licks his lips, leaning his slightly indigo-stained face in your neck, and you feel weirdly intimate when you press a kiss to the shaved side of his head, your bulge pressing against his nook. Hradil makes this low, crooning kind of noise when it slides in, getting lower and then strangled when he gets to a thicker part than, you guess, he was entirely ready for.

Your hands slide under his thighs to lift him and he whines, pushing at you. “No, I’m fine, just, I-I don’t want to stop.” He calms down when you stop moving him. “Please don’t make me stop, sir.” You can taste his want.

“Will not.” It takes more will than you’re proud of not to just kiss him some more. Being responsible is never fun. “Your own self small are. Will to hurt if..” You trail off, and he nods, understanding blooming in his eyes. You do kiss him, now, for a few seconds, and he goes all but limp in your hands. “Slower.”

Clorad’s hands slide up from his hips to his chest. “Yeah. Don’t want you getting hurt.” He presses a little smooch to the side of Hradil’s face, groping at his chest to make him squirm while you scrape your teeth against his shoulder.

It works, of course, and you have to stop yourself from digging your teeth into his shoulder too hard. As it is, his little, whimpery moans meld into what you can only call a wail, his nook fluttering, and you pull back to admire a dark bruise on his shoulder. He shudders, chirping when you ease him down a bit further.

“Oh.” He gasps, sitting upright. You shift your hold on his thighs, but he keeps this slightly puzzled look on his face, barely reacting when you start to pull him back, and then you feel pressure, and Clorad shifts closer, and it clicks. “Just, uh, s-slowly.”

That’s disgusting. That’s terrible. That’s.. Kinda hot.

You mean, you’ll never tell Clorad about it, because you don’t want to deal with him waggling his eyebrows at you; he waggles enough at you anyway. Gods know you don’t need more distractions in the throne room.

“You like this, shorty?” Clorad purrs, stroking Hradil’s front, from the base of his throat to his hips, Hradil’s head leaned on his shoulder.

You roll your hips up and he croons, biting his bottom lip in a grin, and his head doesn’t sit on Clorad’s shoulder when you’re further along. “Never better, Emperor.” He giggles a little, hands sliding up your front. He gropes your chest, then slides them further, stroking his thumb against your bottom lip and looking at you with wide, glittering eyes. “Better than anything I imagined.” You lick his thumb, pull it into your mouth, and keep his eyes on yours as you press him down.

He pants, gasping, but isn’t grabbing at you to slow you down. You still move a little slower, because he’s overzealous and, honestly, you like watching his face shift as you fill him. You’re about halfway, and then you kiss him because you can and your bulge is twisting in on itself inside him. He sobs, twists his hips as much as he can in your hold, and your bulge presses into his seedflap. Hradil shudders, rocking against it, but you growl at him to stay still, and that’s what does it. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, his eyes shutting tightly, then they open wide.

Hradil almost screams when he spills, arching his back between the two of you and clawing at your shoulders. His thighs tremble in your hands, and you know well that if he were free, he would shut his legs as he worked himself through it, but he’s held still between you both, Clorad’s hands around his chest. You push his thighs apart further, shoving your bulge into his nook the last few inches, and he shudders harder, his eyes fluttering and rolling back, and you lick his bared throat. His nook clenches as much as it can around you, his seedflap twitching sporadically as he catches his breath.

“Yes, yes, y-yes yes, fuck, yes.” He whimpers, jumping when you bite his throat. “Keep going, keep going.”

At this rate, you might just become fond of taking orders. Well, maybe not that far.

Clorad’s other bulges twist idly between your thighs, and though you can’t exactly count, what with them all just twisting and pressing at everything, you’d guess he’s got just the one inside Hradil. He’s a small guy, after all.

Even with him nearly begging you to move, (“fuck, please, please, sir, please”), you stay still, enjoying the feeling of being seated in a troll like this, and of Clorad’s bulges twisting around yours, rubbing against your oversensitive nook and prodding Hradil’s. The feeling of pressure from Clorad’s one occupied bulge is new, but not bad at all. It makes your bulge lash a little more, almost makes you want to bare your teeth like you’re a feral and you’re disputing claim to a mate. Almost.

You abandon holding Hradil’s thigh to grab the back of Clorad’s hair in a way that is, technically, illegal, and pull him into a kiss instead, listening to the excited chips and warbles Hradil makes on seeing it, the soft, pleased moan Clorad makes, and letting it add to your own excitement. By the time you pull back, Clorad panting harsh and looking at you with glittering, perfectly Tyrian eyes, Hradil is twitching impatiently, his bulge wrapped around the base of yours.

Hradil leans heavily against Clorad’s chest, purring under your hand when you pet his chest, and it warps when he moans, head falling back when Clorad licks his throat, his teeth sinking in on either side, though he doesn’t break the skin or even bruise. Hradil doesn’t seem to mind, his nook fluttering and his thighs twitching.

“Please, please, gods, I’m gonna pass out.” He pants, hips twitching a few times before Clorad holds him still. “Please move.”

Clorad chuckles, pulling back to kiss at his neck, and you start to move. It isn’t a lot, since you’re holding Hradil up and still, but you rock your hips down and back, and up and against, in a slow rhythm, just moving slightly inside him. Between the two of you, he stays mostly upright, even as Clorad starts moving in counterpoint.

And gods, he’s gorgeous. His neck arches back, his mouth open and lips all wet, smeared with lipstick and paint, indigo and Tyrian sticking to his chin, dripping down to his collarbones. The soft give of his thighs jiggle with each movement, a round, dark bruise on the inside of one where you must have bitten him a bit too hard. And he’s grinning, his knees pushing to press together and indigo glowing faintly behind his eyelids.

How the fuck are you supposed to work with him later?

You slide a hand up, over his abdomen, over his chest, and wrap it around his throat, pulling his attention back to you, making him meet your eyes. He still has that star-struck, adoring look on his face, and leans into the kisses you press against his jaw, breathing out a little sigh before you press down on the sides of his neck. His nook tightens and you groan, locking your eyes on his and letting your voodoos sink into his pan.

His pan is all heat and want, need, pleasure pulsing up his spine and muddying his thoughts until you’re almost drowning in it with him. Hradil licks into your mouth when you kiss him, hands taking up residence on the back of your head and the side of your neck, keeping your jaw tilted how he wants. Demanding. It’s nice, though. Better than nice he feels spectacular, his knee bent and his toes pointed over your arm.

You’d press him into the mattress if Clorad weren’t helping, but you press him against Clorad’s front, and that’s just as good, because he takes over your hold on his thigh and neck to let you grip him around the middle. Hradil shudders, his hands moving to grab Clorad’s arms while you pail him, rolling your hips languidly against his, barely moving your body for it.

You won’t last long. You’re tired, for one, and you’re oversensitive, and he’s making this little noises and Clorad is pailing his wastechute, which in itself is something that makes you whine thinking about. But he seems right there with you, both of them really, with Clorad purring into Hradil’s mouth, and then nuzzling against his hair, his fins all flared out while he murmurs.

“So good, cutie, so good for us.” He turns, kissing the thinner part of his horn and making Hradil sob. “Let it happen, gorgeous, look at you.” He strokes a hand down Hradil’s chest and he shudders. “Look at you.”

He whimpers, his nook fluttering. He’s lovely, and you tell him as much, embarrassed to find yourself imagining coddling him, washing his thighs and curling him to your chest, pressing your face between his horns, petting down his back when you wake up because he probably won’t get up before you. You’re too soft, but he never has to know. Besides, you aren’t flush for him. You like him, but you’re not putting him in your quad.

You’re just a considerate pailing partner, that’s all. He whines into your mouth when you kiss him, clawing at your back to try and drag you closer. He isn’t satisfied until you’re sure he can’t breathe properly, his chest crushed against yours, his legs pushed in a way that can’t be comfortable for him, but then Clorad’s hands are off his legs and he just wraps them around you, biting your bottom lip when you make to pull away from the kiss.

Very, very demanding. But still a good kisser, so you can let it go for now. His hands tangle in your hair, his thighs shivering, and you kiss his jaw to pull away and breathe as much as you can. Over his shoulder, you grab Clorad (still illegal), and yank him close enough to kiss the edge of his fin, feeling Hradil tense wonderfully at the croon it gets you.

Hand wrapped around Hradil’s bulge, you kiss it a few more times, dragging your tongue over the delicate webbing and almost-sharp tines, working the three of you up. Hradil makes this choking noise, and you know he’s coming, so you sink your teeth into Clorad’s fin. He snarls, shuddering so suddenly he almost falls over, his arms closing in a vice grip around Hradil’s stomach, and he keeps shivering, even when you pull away from his fin, admiring the bruise on it while you rut against Hradil. It’s good, it’s good, it’s good.

Hradil breathes. “Please.” And you’re done, shuddering, kissing him like you can’t breathe anything but him, Clorad stroking your hair back, purring.

It’s so much. You keep rutting, slower and slower, until your bulge deflates, and Hradil is twitching and whining by the time you take him out of Clorad’s grip to lay down, curling around him with soft, fluttering kisses being pressed to your jaw and chest, and then Clorad settles behind you and they’re on the back of your neck, too. They’re soft, tired, Clorad slurring in an octave just too low for you to understand fully, telling you to sleep, Hradil placidly being arranged to have his face under your chin. He drapes an arm over your shoulder when he finds that Clorad’s is already over your waist.

You drift off feeling exhausted, warm, and somewhat sticky between two very interesting trolls.

Then you wake up, rested, embarrassed and alone in your block, in your compound, in your recupracoon. Maybe… Maybe you had too much to eat before you went to sleep? You’re gonna take a shower for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> HA zag on em. if u liked this somehow maybe buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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